


Law of Averages

by windsorblue



Category: Ocean's Eleven (2001), Smokin' Aces (2006)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-02
Updated: 2007-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsorblue/pseuds/windsorblue





	Law of Averages

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[crossover crack](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/crossover%20crack), [danny](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/danny), [fic](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [israel](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/israel), [o11](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/o11), [reuben](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/reuben), [saul](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/saul), [smokin' aces](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/smokin%27%20aces)  
  
---|---  
  
_  
**(fic) (o11/aces) Law of Averages (R - language)**   
_   
**title:** Law of Averages  
 **fandom(s)** _Ocean's Eleven_ with teasing glances towards _Smokin' Aces_  
 **characters:** Danny, Saul, Reuben, Buddy Israel (kinda)  
 **rating:** R-ish - language

"So what are we doing here?" Danny's fidgety. Vegas is for working. Taking in the shows is something tourists do. And when Reuben says those words - taking in a show - Danny tells him so.

"Relax, Daniel," Saul says. The waitress stops at their table, dips her knees ever-so-slightly as she serves their drinks. Danny looks up briefly to give her the thank-you-nod and realizes her hands look older than her face. "You're gonna give yourself a heart attack," Saul says.

Danny swallows half his martini in one go - grimace, _smooth_ , cough - and says, "So what are we doing here?"

The guy on the stage is working a deck of cards like a hustler. Just watching him makes Danny think of a 35-year-old lap dancer from some joint on Fremont Street stringing along some poor dumb kid; some sailor-boy type, maybe, on shore leave - one of those poor kids whose high school football skills weren't good enough to get him into college in spite of his 1.35 GPA. Telling him she likes him, wants to be his girlfriend. The guy on the stage has that closet-junkie look about him. His suit hangs like it came from the half-off rack at Sears. His shirt looks like something that spent last night crumpled up in a ball on Rusty's bedroom floor.

"This Israel guy," Reuben says. He's got a cigar in his mouth, unlit, just there for teething - Reuben's tobacco teat, never too far out of reach. "He's not bad."

Saul shrugs and swirls his drink around in his glass. "Eh - he's okay."

"We're not really here just to see the magic act," Danny says. He says it like if he sounds like he really believes it, it'll be true. "Are we really here just to see the magic act?"

"He's not bad," Reuben says.

"He's okay," Saul shrugs.

"Christ on a cracker," Danny mutters.

"Daniel, _relax_ ," Saul says. "You're gonna give yourself a - "

"A heart attack," Danny finishes with him. "Yeah. Probably."

The magic act - Israel - he's pulling a dove out of thin air - out of nowhere - out of his ass, for all Danny cares. Danny finishes his drink and gestures for another.

"This guy," Reuben says. "This guy's working six nights a week, every goddamned week of the year. Hardest working guy in town, since Sammy Davis Jr. passed."

"God rest his soul," Saul says, lifting his glass. Reuben lifts his, too - _clink_ \- and if Danny didn't know better he might think this was some bullshit act of their own they were doing. The waitress turns up almost just-in-time and Danny has to clink-and-drink fast to catch up.

"So we're really here to see the magic act?" Danny asks. "Because it seems like we might actually be here to see the magic act."

"I hear he's connected," Saul says.

"That explains the suit," Danny mutters.

"Kid thinks he's Frank Sinatra," Reuben says.

"God rest his soul," Saul says. Raise-clink-drink again.

"Six nights a week, fifty-two weeks a year," Reuben says.

"Doesn't even take Christmas off," Saul adds.

"This is fascinating," Danny says, sounding not-at-all fascinated. "Why do we care?"

Reuben leans back in his chair, pulls his cigar-chew-toy out of his mouth and finishes his drink. "We care because of the law of averages."

"The law of averages?" Danny asks. "What about it?"

"Eventually," Saul says, "The kid's got to botch a trick."

Danny says nothing for a minute, just tries not to stare. "We're here," Danny says, slowly, cogitating, "Drinking watered down martinis in a room full of little old ladies from Pasadena just so you guys can see if the magic act drops his deck of cards?"

"Not just to _see_ it," Reuben says. "We got 1,500 bucks apiece riding on it."

"And watch it with the little old lady comments," Saul adds, nodding and smiling at a lady three tables over.

"You bet on this?" Danny asks.

"Back room at Caesar's," Reuben says, cigar between his teeth. "They make book on anything. There isn't a goddamned thing on Earth you can't bet on in the back room at Caesar's."

Saul leans in and says, "My money's riding on the sawing a girl in half trick. That would be one hell of a fuck-up, Daniel. One _hell_ of a fuck-up."

"You guys are vultures," Danny says.

" _We're_ vultures," Saul says.

"Rusty's got a grand that says one of those birds takes a dump on Israel's head," Reuben adds.

"Jesus H..." Danny mutters. "You guys really sit through this crap magic act just to see if he fucks up a trick?"

Reuben chews on his cigar and says, "He's not bad."

"Eh," Saul shrugs. "He's alright."

Danny sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I'd give my left nut for a halfway decent job to pull right about now."

Saul reaches over and pats his shoulder. "You gotta learn to relax, Daniel. You're gonna give yourself a heart attack."

Danny looks up at Saul, and waves down the waitress for another drink.

*end*  



End file.
